


For The Collective Good

by ktbl



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Kold War, Cyber Lin Kuei, Desk Sex, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fingering, First Tournament (Again), Implied Relationships, Kissing, Kold War Skins, Massage, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: The USSR's top warriors are called to fight in a tournament with far-reaching implications. It will necessitate working out their own interpersonal differences, as well as engaging in unexpected and perhaps unwelcome alliances.(note: chap 3 is up, and that's pretty much explicit content, so you can read or skip at will)
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> MKX has a variety of phenomenally gorgeous skins to play with, and this was inspired more than a little by the Kold War tower in the MK mobile game... and an idea in my head that just wouldn't leave off. So the one little smut scene I envisioned somehow turned into a much larger story and grew legs and has run off on its own.
> 
> Hat tip to Beckon for bouncing some ideas around with me.

The air is crisp and cold, and General Sonya Blade inhales deeply. The cold is almost enough to sear her lungs as it fills them, heavy with a promising smell of snow. She tips her head up to the sky; it was blue when she went home this morning after a long, late night in the office, but now as she returns after lunch, it is thick and grey. There’s little to brighten it up, except for the bright crisp flags flying outside the building.

Another few inches will mean little on the several feet already covering much of Moscow. It will make at least one of her squadmates far too happy, and one of them more aggravated than he usually is. The third probably won’t care either way.

She sighs and walks up the steps, shouldering the door into the Special Operations Forces building. She is met by salutes, and she returns them, her heels clicking on the floor and her long overcoat making sure everyone gives her space, adding a little bulk to her slim frame. When it comes to being respected while under forty and female in the SOF, she needs every bit of help she can get; too many of the old guard don’t quite understand her or her team or what they do. They don’t understand that they aren’t Spetznaz as everyone else understands them, and the special accommodations from the Central Committee exist for a reason.

Her eyes sweep the building as she moves through it. Everything is precise and pristine, as it is every day - but there is something humming inside, something different. She frowns slightly as she walks down the dark wood-paneled halls and past the busts of Lenin and Stalin and Zhukov, down into the depths of the building. That’s where they keep her team’s offices and their training room, past security checks and safety protocols that exist nowhere else in the building.

They could share with everyone else… but her team plays hard. After the third or fourth time they sent someone to Medical in a single afternoon, her superiors decided that General Blade and her people simply didn’t play well with others. They were given their own space shortly thereafter.

It suits her - and the rest of them - just fine.

A light is on over the training room door as she passes it. Sonya backtracks and opens a narrow door, leading her up a short flight of stairs into the observation room. She isn’t alone; sitting a few seats in is a redhead in a black and red leather coat. The redhead has her elbows propped on her stocking-covered knees and leaning forward intently to watch the unabashedly aggressive brawl going on in the room beyond the bulletproof glass. If she has noticed Sonya come in, she doesn’t deign to comment.

Kuai Liang and Hanzo are sparring. She pauses, watching carefully as a flurry of icicles flies sharply from one side of the room to the other, and a blast of flame licks across in return. She corrects her mental impression: this isn’t Kuai Liang and Hanzo, this is Tundra and Scorpion. It’s blades and powers both, which means someone said something and they’re determined to take it out on each other in as vicious a way as possible.

“General.”

Ah - so she has noticed, then. Sonya turns and tips her head in greeting to her second-in-command.

“Skarlet. How long have they been at it?”

“Half an hour,” she replies, tongue peeking out and wetting her lips. She reaches up a hand and absentmindedly combs through her chin-length bob, as perpetually sleek and maintained as Sonya’s is not. “Comments were made, and Tundra took offense, and then they decided to bring it into the ring. I think they are almost done.” She sounds a bit amused. “They’ve been slowing down, not going for the kill anymore, only to maim. Or humiliate.”

“Delightful.” Sonya can’t keep the dry sarcasm from her voice. “I haven’t gotten to my office yet; send them to me - and you come, yourself - when all dicks have been measured, and any wounds tended. I have a feeling there will be an announcement.”

“So you have felt it too.” Skarlet looks at Sonya, meeting her eyes. Skarlet has always been almost uncannily perceptive. It is yet another thing that makes Sonya keep her close. They both know she is not really from the Soviet Union - that she comes from somewhere else - but they keep the lie for everyone else. “Do you know what it is yet?”

“Likely something is waiting on my desk.” Sonya’s eyes turn towards the two men fighting in the ring. They are fighting fit and going at each other with pure aggression, lashing out with kicks and grappling roughly with one another. They almost certainly know she is here, but there isn’t even a flick of an eye towards the observation room. There is only so long they can keep their animosity simmering between them before sparks literally begin to fly. Today, she’s grateful it has come to a head in a controlled space equipped to handle them, particularly Scorpion’s rage.

The first time, the team had been together for barely a month, and her office bore the brunt of it. Years later, she still finds signs of their brawl in dents in the wooden paneling and hidden, here and there. There is a reason one high-backed couch is pushed up against the wall and is never moved.

An icicle-blade lances across one of Scorpion’s bare biceps; he lets out a bellow of rage. Sonya’s focus flicks to Skarlet, and how her lips are parting, tongue darting out to wet them again, a look of hunger in her eyes. No wonder Skarlet has been watching them - she must be hoping for a treat. She wouldn’t be surprised if Skarlet had egged on the argument, in the hopes it got good and bloody. Sonya turns her attention back to the sparring match in front of her, just in time to see fire flash from Scorpion’s hands, and a moment later a kunai on a chain shoots along behind them.

Tundra ducks the kunai, the flames trying to lick at his skin. They fail, spreading out on a thin sheet of ice Tundra throws up almost hastily. Skarlet rises off the chair, leaning forward almost eagerly. Sonya turns away, looking back at the hungry woman. “By the time they’ve worn themselves out - and you’ve done what you need to,” she adds in acknowledgment of Skarlet’s peculiarities, “I should have enough information.”

Skarlet nods, her eyes fastened to the fight in front of her, and the slow trickle of blood from Scorpion’s shoulder.

Sonya might as well be talking to a wall, for all the attention Skarlet is paying her now that there is visible blood. She departs with nothing further to say.

She makes her way to her office, nodding to her aide already at his desk and the hefty pile of folders teetering precariously. Her mouth curls, lips pulling back. The young man flashes an apologetic smile.

“Good afternoon, General.”

“We hope so. How bad is it?”

“Mostly reports that you do not need to worry about. A few things that may be of special interest, and I have flagged them… A possible new recruit in the CSSR - there is a dossier for you. More reports of revolutionary activity and smuggling. And there is something for your eyes only.” He taps a sealed folio on the top.

“Good man. Thank you.” She collects the folders, frowning at how light they are for how much of a burden they promise to be. “I am expecting the rest of the team in after something is sorted out. Send them in, and call me if anyone else wants a meeting.”

He nods, and she pushes open the door into her office, surveying it briefly. Couch and chairs around a small table for intimate meetings, a long table with harder chairs for the more formal ones. She trails a finger over a gouge in the wood paneling - one of Skarlet’s from her finka, she remembers, though she can’t remember what set off the assault on the wood. No windows, not this deep into the ground; she should have had one with her rank, but safety and security forbid it.

She drops the files and paperwork on the broad wooden desk and boots up her computer. Despite the rest of the years of history embedded in her office, the intricate carved and gilded furniture that would have been at home in a tsar’s palace, this is the finest and fastest and most advanced piece of technology she can get. She lovingly strokes a finger down the sleek black panel of the monitor as it blinks to life, a gold leaf and red star brightening on the screen.

So do a dozen icons - several of them bright red and demanding her attention with egregiously large numbers of alerts next to them. She swears for several moments in a mixture of Russian and English, the latter rusty but fluent enough when it comes to obscenities.

“All since this morning,” she complains to herself, pounding a fist on the desk in annoyance, before turning her attention to what are no doubt an excess of idiots so tied up in their own bureaucratic needs that they couldn’t find their own asses with a map and both hands.

Eventually, her inbox is wrangled down to a manageable number and she turns her attention to the pile of folders. Her aide brings in a tray of tea, and she finishes one dark and sugary-sweet cup of tea and pours herself a second before she feels ready to address the files and folders.

The slim sealed folio of compartmentalized information sits almost menacingly on top, and she does not read it first. She reads through the dossier first of the potential new recruit, trailing one manicured finger down the page as she reads about the young man someone has flagged as a potential addition to her team. She types out a confirmation to have him recruited - not quite by any means necessary, but to entice him within reason. Then, and only then, does she unseal the classified documents.

Her eyes go wide as she begins to read it, inhaling and then forgetting to exhale as she reads through the documents, flipping through clear photographs and grainy surveillance images. She reaches carefully for her tea, sipping on it more out of habit than desire as she lets the implications sink in. She flips back to an image, the first one in the stack, and stares at it for long minutes. The man looks like he’s out of some old Chinese or Japanese art, though not one of their Vietnamese comrades’ despite the conical hat. White hair and the robes… She sighs and resolves to ask Hanzo or Kuai Liang about it when they come in. Between the two of them, they should know; with their backgrounds, they might even know who it is.

“General.”

She looks up as Tundra, Scorpion, and Skarlet enter the room, the latter dabbing lightly at the corner of her mouth with a fingertip, licking something off of it. The men have lost their masks, and they both look serious - but that is how they always look. The temperature seems to drop in the room, and she tips her head and raises her eyebrows at Tundra. He doesn’t have a single repentant bone in his body, and arches his dark brows in return.

“Tea?” She motions to the small samovar in one corner and the electric kettle beside it. Both men wrinkle their noses, looking far too similar for a moment. She laughs softly. Skarlet heads almost unerringly to make herself a cup of smoky, heavy tea. “There are powder and the jam on the side,” Sonya adds, and only then do the men move to make their own. Neither has taken to the Eastern European habit of jammy teas, and Scorpion loathes black tea. There is matcha powder for the last of the Shirai Ryu, and the jam never added to the pot to accommodate her Lin Kuei’s tastes.

“What has everyone walking around on high alert?” Tundra leans against the edge of her desk, right up in her personal space. His dark eyes are alight with a kind of cool, calculated anticipation. Not glee; he rarely shows such blatant things beneath his composure. She watches as the steam from his mug abruptly fades, a faint hint of frost glazing the glass cup and its silver holder for a moment.

“I expect I could ask you or Scorpion and you would know.” Sonya taps the folder with her fingertip. “There is a meeting to be held in a few hours about a new operation for our team, albeit an unorthodox one. Less an operation, in truth, and more…”

“A tournament.” Tundra’s voice is low and confident. He doesn’t sip from the glass, his eyes only on her. “Looking for some of the best warriors to compete in it. Such a thing was spoken of, by my brother and grandfather. Before.”

“Which before - the one before the Lin Kuei helped slaughter my clan, or after that but before your brother began his rampage to turn the Lin Kuei into machines?” Scorpion’s voice is sharp as either of his blades, and Sonya holds up a hand.

“Enough. This,” and she taps the folder, “says we’re all - all four of us - to go to this. As representatives. There’s a briefing this afternoon, and some foreign emissary coming to talk about the matter. Which brings me to you two.” Sonya looks at the two men and flips open the folder. “Do you recognize him?”

She can see Tundra’s face tighten, eyes narrowing as he looks at the photograph. Scorpion comes to her other side and looks at the image.

“Raiden.” His voice drips a mixture of surprise and scorn. “Lord Raiden, Protector God of Earthrealm.”

Her fingers drift up to the Orthodox cross at her neck, and she can tell three sets of eyes are on her as she does.

“Somehow I feel as if I’m not being told everything. And have we not had a discussion that secrets are not always in the best interest of the collective?” She tries to keep the irritation from her voice, but knows it’s futile. Ice would crack off her lips if she were more than a weak-blooded cryomancer, but almost a decade of training with Tundra has left her able to do little more than call up a shield of icy armor in times of need. She can, at least, bestow it on others as well. She’s far better with martial arts or a sniper rifle, but that thin thread of strangeness in her blood is what has given her command of this team.

“Not all decisions are ours to make,” Scorpion replies, and there might be a hint of apology in his voice rather than rage or annoyance. He has spent years overcoming the infernal possession that brought him to the attention of her unit, making him less of a creature borne of anger and vengeance and impulse. Apologies are rare from his lips.

“Anything else we would like to share right now?” She meets the eyes of each of them. “Other hidden secrets, gods and demons…?” She shakes her head and snorts, rejecting the thought. “Never mind. He’s coming to petition for our aid, and the final decision has been left with me - which means left with us. And some of you clearly know far more than I do.” It still rankles her, and she can feel her jaw tighten. She stands up brushes past Tundra to the samovar and kettle. The room is silent but for breathing as she fills her own teacup once more with dark concentrated black tea, adding some of the fresh-boiled water to thin it, and then a spoon full of the blackberry jam into it. Both men shudder visibly, and she smirks as she returns to her seat.

“It is important,” Scorpion says after a moment. Tundra nods slowly in agreement.

“We should go, if it is the tournament. It is a matter not just for ourselves, but truly for the collective good. The best warriors will be needed.”

“We will hear him out.” Skarlet’s voice holds a hint of pique, and she sits with her hands holding the silver-chased glass, not drinking. Something is bothering her; Sonya makes a mental note to speak with her when this is done. She suspects it has to do with the fact that the document was classified beyond her level of clearance. “At the very least, it cannot hurt to do such.”

Something turns in Sonya’s stomach, and she hopes that Skarlet’s words are not prophetic.

“This is Lord Raiden,” the pencil-pusher says in English, and Sonya rises smartly from her desk, stepping out around it to greet him. “Lord Raiden, this is General Sonya Hermanovna Blade.”

“General Blade.” His words are careful and he gives her surname the English pronunciation, and she feels her nose wrinkle up with distaste.

“Yes,” she replies in English, the words leaden on her tongue. She’s done her best to only use the language of her birth as needed, ever since she and her mother arrived in Russia over twenty years ago. Vulgarity excepted - because there’s nothing quite like a brazen American fuck when things get bad. But it’s clear now that English will be the language of this meeting, at least. “How may we help you, Lord Raiden?”

“There is to be a competition,” the man begins, folding his arms into his sleeves and looking at each of them in turn. “I wish - I require - you and your team to attend. The fate of the world depends on it.”

It’s just as Scorpion and Tundra said, and they keep their faces expressionless as the man speaks. Sonya wills herself to look as cold and unresponsive as a statue, just another marble bust, as she lets Raiden explain it. A tournament, the fate of the world - not merely an exhibition and the pride of her nation. The true collective, he adds, and she smiles thinly at the brazen use of all the trite phrases that would make the most conservative of the true communists proud. Sonya and her people are of the newer breed, the more open and transparent, hewing to socialism and the more representative republic that the USSR has become.

“The fate of the world?” Skarlet’s voice is low and slow, the sultry voice Sonya has heard her use when she is trying to pick someone up for a good time. Sonya glances at her, and Skarlet’s eyes are only for Raiden. Skarlet’s sizing him up - and she can’t tell if it’s for dinner or a good fuck. Sonya decides she really doesn’t want to know, and focuses her attention on the man her team has claimed is a god.

“So you come to me and you ask the Spetznaz for my special team?”

“You and your team are some of the best fighters Earthrealm has to offer, General Blade. I do not ask the Spetznaz for a good team. I require you four specifically. It is a serious matter.”

“Some of?” Sonya arches both eyebrows, offended. “We are, and I know it for a fact. I would stake any of us against another fighter you could put in the ring.”

“Then you lose nothing, and gain…” Raiden pauses for a moment, “honor, and glory, and pride.” His eyes rest on Scorpion, then Skarlet, and finally Tundra. She watches as it lingers longest on him. There’s some history there, and she’s going to need to get it out of him one way or another. There are going to be a lot of private conversations in her future.

Raiden turns to Tundra. “Kuai Liang - Tundra… and Scorpion. You should know that the Lin Kuei will be there. Sub-Zero has begun the Initiative, and it would not surprise me if he were to try to return you to the fold.”

Damn. The bastard knew where to hit her. She glances to her right and her eyes settle on Skarlet, nodding slowly. Behind Raiden’s back, Skarlet makes a gesture Sonya recognizes, fingers flicking out in the silent signal of 'proceed with caution'. She’s in agreement, then. So too is Tundra, chin dipping slightly, and it’s echoed across the room by Scorpion. Still, she cannot go into this unthinking.

“У́тро ве́чера мудрене́е.”

“Excuse me?” Raiden blinks at her, and it’s the first time she has seen him less than wholly confident. Apparently, he does not possess the power to comprehend all languages of the world; strange, for someone claiming to be a god.

“It is a Russian saying.” She says it again more slowly for him. “ _Utro vechera mudreneye_. Morning is wiser than evening. I must sleep on it.”

She knows her answer already, and she’s sure he knows it as well, but she refuses to agree after so short a time.

“I will wait for your answer,” he says finally, leveling his gaze on each of them, white and strangely blue at the same time. “Here. Take this, and tell me when you have decided.” He walks over to her and proffers a golden square with a design on it. She recognizes it as Japanese or Chinese, and will have Tundra translate it for her later. “It will be in just over a week, so you will need to decide soon.”

“I expect to have an answer for you tomorrow.” She takes the square, and it feels ominously heavy in her hand. “How do I use this?”

“Hold it and say my name, and I will answer.”

“If only all were so prompt,” she replies dryly, setting it beside her computer monitor. “I will be in touch, Lord Raiden.”

“I look forward to it, General Blade.”

There are a few more minutes of banal pleasantries before Raiden departs, Skarlet hot on his heels with a look that says he is prey to her predator; Sonya hopes that she hasn’t bitten off more than she can chew this time. Scorpion pauses, walking to her desk, pointedly on the other side from Tundra.

“I make no promises about the Lin Kuei.”

“We’ll talk later, Hanzo. I won’t stand in the way of your rightful vendetta, but I will also not let you risk this for that purpose alone. I need to speak with each of you. Let me speak with Kuai Liang, as I think most of our response will depend on how matters must fall with the Lin Kuei.”

“I make no promises,” he repeats, and she holds up a hand.

“You will have your turn to make your case, Hasashi,” she says firmly. He visibly checks himself, pulling back and nodding curtly.

“Somehow,” Tundra says beside her, “I feel the child called to the front of the room before the schoolteacher, and I’m not entirely certain why.”

“You should.” Sonya turns in her chair to look up at him, and she nods at Scorpion as he leaves, shutting the door behind him. “We need to have words.”


	2. two

“We need to have words, do we?” Tundra crosses his arms, looking down at her. With his shirt buttoned up to his throat, vest layered atop _that_ , and his bare arms crossed over his chest and his half-gloves on, he looks more than a little dangerous and unpredictable. His lips are pressed together and thin, and the slim scar along his right eye and cheek looks cold and almost red-purple in the office light. His attention is unwavering, a cold clear gaze that tries to freeze her in place.

Sonya nods once, feeling her expression mirror his, though hers is also tinted with annoyance he doesn’t seem to feel.

“About what?”

“The Lin Kuei, to start.” She turns away from him and looks back at the folder in front of her. She shuffles through the papers again and then flicks them, letting them fan out in front of her. Photographs, reports, none of it appealing. “This tournament. All of it. I’m feeling rather like a new recruit, and the fact that you and Scorpion and Skarlet all know things and I do not has made me… sour.”

She focuses her attention on the documents while she waits for him to speak. He never does well when pushed; Hanzo lashes out with fiery rage, and Kuai Liang is silent until he is ready to talk. Nothing of what Raiden said makes any of this damned strangeness easier to swallow. The silence stretches out between them and she considers reaching for the vodka and pair of glasses in her desk. She shifts slightly to reach for it and then he clears his throat.

“What do you want to know?”

“What other secrets are you keeping?” She only glances up at him sidelong before looking back over the files. “What risks will there be if we go to this event, with you and your former clan? How likely are you to be dragged off and turned into a robot or whatever it is? How likely is Hanzo to go off and try to murder your brother?” She snorts sharply through her nose, the vodka an increasingly greater temptation. “Never mind, I know the answer to that.”

She senses his movement and looks over to see him moving a small framed photograph and the dossier to one side. He settles on the corner of her desk, holding the closed file in his hands.

“How much do you know about this tournament?” Her jaw muscles tense with the question.

“Enough.” Typical taciturnity.

“Tell me. Everything you know.”She imbues it with all the command she can. She can see him war with the urge to follow the order and the urge to continue keeping this as close to the chest as he has been. His lips pull, chin juts out, shoulders shift - and then he lets some of it go.

“The Lin Kuei, the Shirai Ryu - and the Shaolin monks, too,” Kuai Liang begins in a steady voice, finding the painting behind her desk suddenly fascinating, “have been around for hundreds of years. The Shirai Ryu was formed by a Lin Kuei warrior who left the clan. Leaving is an act that was - and is - punishable by death. It is equivalent to treason.” He opens the dossier in his hands, looks over it without seeing, and closes it again, setting it on the desk between them.

“There has always been an enmity because of what he took from the Clan in terms of skills, of knowledge. But the Lin Kuei - and the Shaolin and the Shirai Ryu - have always been committed to the safety of this place, of Earthrealm.” He pushes off the desk and stands, holding his hands behind his back as he paces the small space between the back of her chair and the wall.

“Earthrealm?” She is proud of the stability in her voice, tinged with anger more than surprise. She doesn’t turn to track him.

“This is… one of many realms. My ancestors - some of them, at least - came from another place, called Edenia. They were banished from it hundreds of years ago, and came here. That place is now part of another realm, called Outworld. And Outworld’s ruler wishes to merge Earthrealm with his realm as well.” He delivers it with his usual devastatingly cold honesty.

That makes her start, turning to look at him with surprise. He doesn’t seem to notice, his back to her. She taps the papers together into a pile to hide her response, carefully lining them up. A moment later, she feels cool fingertips brush over her shoulders. Her shoulder blades jerk up out of habit, but then she lets them fall.

“You look tense.”

“I am. I feel like you’ve all been making me your fool, the only one who had no idea what was at stake.” She knows she sounds like she’s been sucking on lemons, but the door is shut and pent up annoyance leaks through now. “And now I find out there is an entire other realm, a dimension, that clearly you and Scorpion and Skarlet know of. _Gods_. Literal deities.” Her voice sounds more exhausted than she wants to admit. Every cool brush of his fingers feels good; the thought rises in her head that she’d like to have those fingers busy somewhere else. But not until she’s gotten the answers out of him that she wants. That she _needs_.

His thumbs dig into the muscle on either side of the knob at the base of her neck, running up the nape of her neck to the base of her skull and then back down. She tips her head down and hears his laugh behind her.

His fingers slow for a moment and then resume, steady and even, along her neck. “I can understand why you feel as if we have pulled a horrible trick on you.”

“At the least that you have severely incapacitated my intelligence. I cannot tell if I am angry that you kept this from me, or angry that you managed to do so and I wasn’t clever enough to figure it out.” She swallows as he moves his hands up her head, firmly stroking along the muscles of her jaw. Every few strokes he pulls his hands back to let them glide over the sensitive skin behind her ears. She bites down on her lower lip at the play of his fingers, the way it sends prickles of pleasure rippling through her. She knows he’s had anatomy training a doctor would envy - necessary for a ninja assassin - and that has given him the ability to make erogenous zones out of places she didn’t think it was possible to.

The memory of what he does to the web of skin between her index finger and thumb sends a shiver down her spine and the start of a low ache between her thighs.

“I apologize, General. The long and the short of it is that there is this tournament. It is a lethal one - the fights are most often to the death. As brutal a death as possible. This particular tournament - the one this year - is of great importance. If Outworld’s fighters win, they will be able to merge Earthrealm with Outworld. If Earth’s fighters win, then Outworld’s invasion plans are thwarted until they can win ten in a row once more.”

“And the Lin Kuei? The _Cyber_ Lin Kuei, as they are now?”

She knows the answer, but at least it isn’t interdimensional bullshit - only technology.

“Ah.” His fingers stop again before grazing along her throat, over her quickened pulse, sweeping gently back towards her neck and shoulders. “If that has finished… they will likely be trying to kill me, much as Hanzo will be trying to kill my brother. I have thought of them all as lost to me already - seeing them, what they have become? It will be… unpleasant.” He sighs, and she tips her head slightly. Liang reaches an arm across her chest, bracing her against it. His other hand settles on the back of that shoulder, thumb and fingers spread wide to work out the more tenacious knots. She lets out a low, throaty moan as he finds a particularly hard one. “But the tournament is more important, because if we lose, Outworld will try to slaughter most of us. We will go and fight, and we will win. And then we can deal with my clan - or what once was my clan.”

It’s rare for him to discuss his life before he came to the Special Operations Forces. Over the nearly two decades she’s managed to coax a little out of him, to know what he gave up when he cast himself out of the Lin Kuei in order to survive intact. It’s usually come after late nights of drinking, or the occasional unguarded postcoital conversation.

She feels the dry brush of cool lips across the nape of her neck in a closed-mouth kiss. His hand bracing across her chest drops down, grazing over her chest. She sucks in a short and shallow breath, and he moves it back across and over her once again, clearly trying to get the same response. “Nice try, but this isn’t going to get you out of giving me details about the Lin Kuei situation. What you know _or_ suspect.”

His hand cups the swell and curve of her breast, thumb brushing over the layers where her nipple is. Even despite the fabric separating the sensitive skin from his hand, she feels it furl up tightly in anticipation.

“Save the lecture, Sonya.” She can feel his breath warm against her neck as he drops his head closer to her. “You know as well as I do - everyone does - that none of us can say no to this. The challenge, if nothing else. I know your past as well as everyone else. The medals you keep in your desk drawer. You hunger for glory as badly as anyone else.”

The bald statement hits in her in the gut. “I want my team intact. Hanzo’s as good as walking in as the assassin he was trained to be, and you’re walking in as a target. Glory comes with victory.” She sighs, turning around to face him. He steps back, and his face is unreadable. “Should we go? Do you really think so?”

“I do. I am not looking forward it by any means, but there’s too much at stake.” He lets out a rusty laugh. “You’ll have to leash Hanzo, too.”

“He’s not a dog.”

“He’s a wolf, and he will go for Bi-Han’s throat. Or what passes for it, now. If they are all cyberized now…” Kuai Liang trails off, closing his eyes and shaking his head sharply. He opens his eyes again and meets her gaze steadily. Sonya is taken aback by the deep dismay she can see there.

“You’re ours now. All of us will fight for you - even Hanzo,” she adds. He looks skeptical, and she smirks. “He will. You two have become friends, no matter how rough you are with each other. Neither one of you would get better without the other to show up. You need each other.”

He snorts, but doesn’t argue. She knows better than to push her luck. Call it self-interest; she can see the faint hint of pink in his throat and cheeks, and the low ache in her core throbs a little heavier. She flicks her eyes to the door - a quick walk over to close and lock it against any intrusion. She clears her throat and goes back to listening to Kuai Liang. He’s followed her eyes to the door, and then back to her face. She can see his heartbeat in his throat,pounding against the skin.

“I am not looking forward to it. If Sektor decides he wants me back in the Lin Kuei… Little will stop him, Sonya. Bi-Han will do as he is bid, brother or not. And my old friends will think of me as a traitor now. The clan is all, above blood ties, above everything. And I will not be turned into a robot.”

“We won’t let them. _I_ won’t,” she adds firmly, reaching up to cup his cheek impulsively, fingers brushing the rough hairs of his beard. “You left the Lin Kuei years ago, when you found out what they’d done to the Shirai Ryu, and what their plans were. You had nothing to do with those plans, and have had nothing to do with the Lin Kuei since. They could have come for you any time and they didn’t. They know better.”

“You are oddly protective for a military woman. Is your role not to send your soldiers out to die?”

“You and Hanzo and Skarlet are my people, and I will not let anything happen to any of you. For the collective interest of my team, and my nation, I need to ensure my cryomancer remains where he should be.” She catches his mouth pulling into an icy arch of a smile before it falls, and her hand falls with it.

“Says the one learning to practice it.”

“Thin blood. The Lin Kuei would be after me just as fast as you, I think, if they knew.”

At that, there is a sudden rap on the door. It opens and Scorpion steps through from the hallway, quick as his namesake. His eyes catch on the two of them, and then he holds Sonya’s gaze with his. She feels the faint fizzle of irritation in her; a minute earlier, if she’d just stood up and locked the damn door—

“So what of the Lin Kuei? Of _his_ brother?” He jerks his chin towards Kuai Liang, closing the space between the door and the desk almost as quickly as if he’d teleported. She sniffs the air once out of habit; no sulfur, no flame. No, he’s merely quick and angry.

He’s almost always angry, and that’s an improvement over the years.

Sonya reaches out a palm and looks into his eyes. “You’ll have your chance to fight them. Tundra suspects they will be after him, so you can take out as many as you wish.”

“They mean little against the Shirai Ryu lives destroyed by Bi-Han. I can let kombat thin them out.” There’s a tight look on his face, and Sonya pulls her hand back, pressing her lips together and feeling some of the tension coil back up her spine. Hanzo’s eyes are flickering in a way she doesn’t like. The dark brown iris begins to remind her of embers, hints of rich red and deep orange burning in them. “But Bi-Han is mine. It was his hand that killed Harumi and Satoshi. _His_ hand that slew my family.”

“You cannot live entirely for revenge-“

“This is not merely revenge. This is justice.” Hanzo curls his hands over the desk, and she can’t help but look to see if he’s scorching it with his grasp. Not yet, thank God. “For my son, for my wife. Blood calls for blood.”

“Do not speak to me of justice,” Sonya says. Her voice is sharp enough to even stop Hanzo, his head jerking up. “This is your blood feud, Hanzo. I do not begrudge you, and I have only ever said you may not kill him”—she jerks her head towards Tundra—“for it. Go. Kill the Lin Kuei, kill his brother, I don’t fucking care. But I want to return with all of you. No egregiously stupid risks, ten-on-one fights. We all leave together, we all come back together.” That should be clear enough. She can finish this, dismiss him, lock the door…

Tundra steps away from the desk, as if to give them space, and moves circuitously towards the almost uncomfortable couch, as if he shares her thoughts.

“Only if-“ Hanzo stops, and the fires in his eyes flicker. His angular eyes narrow slightly, and he lets out a soft breath in surprise. “You really are worried.” It’s not a question, but a painfully insightful observation. He has a knack for it, and particularly for wielding it against her when she’d least like it. Both of these men understand people and human nature at an uncomfortably deep level. She glares at him in exchange.

“I don’t relish the necessity of training a new team. I am pleased with the one I have. I won’t stand in your way. We’ll support you in this - I will, at least - as long as you don’t throw the rest of us in the firing line with you.”

Hanzo pulls his hands away. She is certain there are faint dark marks on the wood that were not there before. His mouth tips slightly sideways.

“Keep Tundra out of my way, and-“

The door opens again, this time without even a knock. Sonya tries to resist the urge to growl or pound her fist on her desk as Skarlet storms in. “He _left_ ,” the woman snarls. Sonya suppresses a groan as the tension in the room ratchets up further. Skarlet’s pretty face is twisted ugly with frustration. “I was just about to catch up to him, to ask him for - something - and then he vanished. _God_.” She snorts and nearly throws herself down on the couch.

“You were going to ask for a donation. Did you not get enough from me earlier?” Hanzo turns away from Sonya and Tundra, giving Skarlet all of his attention.

“A taste to whet my appetites. But if he is a _god_ , Hanzo…” she trails off, licking her lips. “Imagine the power. Imagine how strong I could be, what I could do with that.”

“You would overindulge. You would be as bad as one of those graduates out celebrating, trying to pour vodka down their throats by the bottle.” Hanzo gives Skarlet a challenging look, and she makes an indignant sound of irritation.

“Maybe I will go find some of those graduates. Or, at least, go to a club. This is Moscow. Half the twenty year olds are drunk anyway, it will be easy to find something.”

Hanzo’s eyes flick between Tundra and Sonya, and he has the gall to smile for a moment, there-and-gone.

“Stay, Skarlet. Wouldn’t tea ease you?”

“Tea?” Her mouth pulls again. “When are you so solicitous? Has Sonya Hermanovna granted you leave to pursue your feud? You might, for the first time in a decade, find pleasure in something?”

Sonya is convinced they’re toying with her. Skarlet can likely scent the pounding blood and the frustrated desire with her strange blood magic, and Hanzo is certainly aware of what he’s thwarted. He’d been married, had a son - he would know all too well.

Kuai Liang remains silent, leaning against the wall. His eyes keep drifting to her in a way that Sonya recognizes. She sees the low and slow build of heat in them, catches the way his fingers curl over the loose fabric of his pants. God, she wants those hands on her again, and the dull ache between her legs becomes sharper.

Skarlet is definitely smirking now.

“They’re cybernetic now, not blood and bone - it’s nothing you would care about,” Hanzo replies acerbically. “But if the General’s Second would like to offer some advice, I will pay for her first few rounds until she can find someone stupid enough to fight her, or offer themselves up.”

“So generous, Scorpion.” Skarlet makes no move to go, leaning back and crossing her legs leisurely at the ankles. “Where’s the sting in this offer? There always is one.”

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

It’s another ten minutes of bullshitting, Skarlet and Hanzo trading little jabs and watching Sonya and Kuai Liang twitch. Sonya is about ready to eject them from her office by force, but that would give them more fuel for their teasing. Over the years their odd group has become close friends, almost family; it makes it all the harder at times to assert her authority. She lets the two have their fun and tries to savor the anticipation instead.

In the end, Hanzo gives Sonya a minute nod, and jerks his head towards the door. “Come, Skarlet. Plot my justice with me, and we will make up for your loss at the blood of a god. Help me plan Bi-Han’s death, and we will plan how to get you what you desire.”

“Such a sweet-talker,” Skarlet says with a hungry look as she rises from the couch. She reminds Sonya nothing more of a predator; Scorpion can be counted upon to be angry, and Tundra cold, but Skarlet is always, always hungry. Skarlet gives Sonya that predatory smile, all teeth and not enough lip, as they leave the room and the thick wood and steel door thunks shut behind them.

Kuai Liang is closer to the door, but he does not even bother to make it there and risk someone coming in before he can - like as not Sonya’s aide. He reaches out with a hand towards it. Almost instantaneously, she sees ice solidify around the handle and lock. No one will be opening it until he is ready.

It’s a rare sign of impatience, but one she savors. He turns back and is at her desk once more in a few carefully measured paces. She pushes back from her desk and rises slowly from her chair.

“I’ve been with the team the longest,” he says as he returns to her desk, “and yet Skarlet is your second in command.”

“You and Hanzo both have your clans with claim on you, the perpetual concern of a conflict of interest. And you both fight like fiends, and I cannot trust either of you to make a fair decision about the other. Skarlet is apart from that. She has no divided loyalties. I can trust her to be cool-headed.”

“And I am not?” His mouth quirks up slightly at her unintended jab. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, tugging lightly at his lapels.

“I can trust her to be _logical_ , then. You and Hanzo both would be good leaders for your clans, if the Shirai Ryu could be rebuilt. If the Lin Kuei had not become obedient robots. She is always hungry, but she has no clan’s mark on her, tugging at her heart and mind. She has only her hunger, and that is under control.” She pokes his chest lightly with a finger. “But it is also frowned upon to be fucking one’s second-in-command on a regular basis. That said, should you wish a promotion…” She trails off.

“As if you and Skarlet have not-“

“I said _on a regular basis.”_ They have all ended up intimate together in some combination or another over the years, but Kuai Liang is the only one she takes to bed with any regularity. The only combination Sonya isn’t sure about is Hanzo and Kuai Liang by themselves; she’s not going to ask, and they certainly haven’t said if it’s happened.

“I would like the chance to lead, somehow.” Kuai Liang runs his fingers along the clinging wool of her skirt, the warmth of him palpable now. “I do not like sitting idle, merely waiting to be issued orders.”

“Let’s see how this falls out. There’s a new candidate - you had his dossier, before - and once we get back, we can perhaps go to Prague, recruit him. See how you handle him.”

He opens his mouth and clamps it shut again, taken aback by the impromptu proposal.

“I will think on it.” He reaches his hands down for her skirt, sliding it up her legging-clad thighs. “Is it only business we have to discuss now?”

Rather than answer, she tugs on his lapels gently, and one finger flicks at the badge on his chest. Medal for Impeccable Service, fifteen years. He’s done his fair share, earned his place on his own merits. She huffs slightly; it’s an award he has that she doesn’t. He glances down, and then meets her eyes.

“Questioning my service, General?”

“Just not sure if you’ll make it to twenty.”

Kuai Liang arches a dark eyebrow, pulling an exaggeratedly skeptical expression. “Is my service no longer impeccable?” His fingers tug at her hem, and she chuckles once.

“Let’s see about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a fill for Trope Bingo (either 'rare pairs' or 'sex on or against furniture') and has just gotten entirely out of hand (currently projected at 10 chapters but likely exceeding that). Let's just write a smutty one-shot, I said. Well, here we are now, and I have only my brain - and MKX - to blame.


	3. [Explicit] three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much explicit sex, no plot. If you'd like to skip over it, plot is expected to resume in chapter 4. :)

She feels the pull of her mouth as it curves up, and there is a little tug of his sternly sealed lips in exchange. It’s the best she can expect; the crinkling at the corners of his eyes tell her all she needs to know.

“You locked us in rather effectively.” She points with her chin towards the door. Ice glints around the handle, jagged edges reaching into the space between door and frame to hold it sealed. His lips twitch slightly and one eyebrow arches briefly.

“I trust I made my point.” His fingers drag up and down her thighs. He plucks again at the hem of her skirt, rubbing the material slowly between his fingers. There’s a look of mild irritation on his face, and she can’t help but chuckle at it.

Sonya pushes away the dossiers and reports and perches on the edge of her desk, her skirt riding up slightly as she does. He steps in towards her, nudging her legs apart with one of his knees. He slots himself between them and spreads his hands out wide over the curve of her thighs, closing his eyes and bending his head down as if to breathe her in. She feels the warmth coming off him as he stands this close, the heat of his palm and fingers as he slides his fingers up her leggings, below the skirt. Every brush, even through the fabric, sends sparks racing through her.

“I didn’t think they were going to leave.” She reaches out and runs her fingers across the backs of his hands, up his wrists and curling around his forearms, snaking their way up his biceps.

“I was about to freeze them and throw them out the door. Hanzo decided he had enough fun at my expense, I think.” He leans down again to kiss her. There’s desire in it, no longer cool and lazy; he’s been stoking his own ardor with all the touching. Her hands fist in the blue fabric of his lapels, pulling him in against her. His mouth stays sealed to hers, tongue sweeping into her mouth hungrily. He reaches up and holds her face in his hands, thumbs grazing her cheekbones and up to the corners of her eyes and back down. He stakes a claim on her mouth, searching out the corners and taking his slow, deliberate time about it.

He drops a hand from her face to run along one of her leather suspenders and push it aside. The smile tugs again at his mouth as he cups first one breast in his hands, then brings his other hand up to do the same with the second. She senses the growing warmth of his palms through the fabric as he plays with her breasts. She finds she has to keep opening her eyes - they slide half-closed with pleasure. He takes a few minutes to work his way from her lips down the column of her throat, scattering hot kisses until he gets to the valley between her breasts. He reaches in between her vest and shirt, circling the hardened nub with his thumb before pulling his hand away and letting it fall to her thigh.

He’s grinning now, she notes distractedly as she reaches for his lapels again; he’s grinning with that dangerous look that says he isn’t stopping until he gets what he wants. Apparently knocking Scorpion to the ground and fighting for more than half an hour isn’t enough to whet his appetite - or maybe it’s what has gotten his blood pumping in the first place. She drops a hand down, running it along his vest and to palm the bulge between his thighs. She feels a matching look pulling at her lips as he shudders and takes a breath. He swallows visibly, Ada’s apple bobbing in his throat, as she repeats the movements. It doesn’t matter how loose his uniform trousers are - there’s no way to hard how hard he’s getting.

His hands are on her thighs again, one working its way up along her leggings and pushing the knit skirt up further. His fingertips gently press and tug at the wool of her leggings with irritation.

“It is not so cold today. You overdressed.”

“Not all of us are impervious to the temperature as you,” she retorts. “And it’s going to snow again today, if it hasn’t already begun to. I, at least, do not want to walk home bare-legged and get frostbite by the time I get back to my apartment.” He gives a half-chuckle and his fingers slide up further, rubbing at the seam between her legs. The low heat curling within her spreads; for a moment she’s certain she feels a throb of wanting, the arousal tangible under his touch.

“You could just as easily ignore the cold if you were of a mind. You do not practice your cryomancy as often as you should.” His words make her narrow her eyes, the heat of wanting abating ever so slightly. He sucks in a small breath as if he realizes her annoyance, tips his head ever so slightly. He drags a finger along the seam again with added pressure. “This, however, seems warm enough.”

It’s old banter, but familiar and good, and she could use familiar right now. They’ve done this more than once, too; she pushes herself up on her hands and he pulls the waistband of her leggings and underwear down. His fingers walk slowly up her newly bare skin, palms curving over the muscle and stroking it slowly. His breathing has picked up, matching her own. It pools against her collarbones as he bends down and kisses a line down her throat again, mouthing at the skin where her neck and shoulders meet, before pulling back.

He rubs a knuckle between her legs and along her folds. It sends a ripple of arousal outward through her body, and she curls her toes reflexively in her boots. Her breath catches in her throat, muscles seizing up at the sensation. She hooks her fingers into his belt and hauls him in closer to her, aching for more touch, closer contact. His chest is covered but his neck is bare, and she scatters kisses along it, tongue marking a path to the hollow of his throat. She feels his pulse there, and breathes the crisp scent of him in where his blood is closest to the surface. Pine trees and winter winds and something leather-tobacco rich below it all.

She is so caught up in him that she barely manages to muffle her moan against him as he eases one finger inside her. She tugs at his throat gently with her mouth, sucking skin in between her lips. He works his finger slowly in return, every circling motion making her twitch, sliding it deeper until he’s buried up to the third knuckle, his other fingers curled against her labia. She can feel the low rumble he makes as a groan works its way out of his chest. He curls a finger and she arches up against it, letting out a long smothered sound of pleasure.

“Definitely not cold,” he murmurs, breath misting lightly against her skin. He teases her with slow strokes as she pushes her head into one of his woolen shoulder pads. Her chest shudders with deep breaths; thinking is becoming difficult, when this is feeling as good as it is. Her heartbeat skips again as her fingers grab at the leather strap across his chest, clutching it in her fist. She rolls her hips as arousal surges through her, and looks up to his face.

Kuai Liang’s eyebrows draw together slightly with focus as he adds a second finger, and then brushes of his thumb over her clit. Pleasure arcs through her and her toes curl again, nipples rock-hard and almost painful. She is grateful she’s sitting; she would be getting wobbly-legged otherwise.

If she was in a better mood, she might drop to her knees and see if she could undo him entirely, shatter the cool facade, but she doesn’t have the patience for it right now.

“This how you planning on spending your afternoon?” Her tongue is thick and slow.

“I won’t need the afternoon. You,” he says in a rough voice, “are desperate.”

“Pot meet kettle,” she replies, fingers climbing the strap to his woolen shoulder pads again and then up to his face, cupping his cheeks, running her thumbs across his lips. One backtracks and marks the livid scar down his face, leaning up to press a kiss to the bottom tip of it. “I haven’t gotten laid in days.”

“You have only yourself to blame for that,” he points out. He turns his head to catch her lips and kisses her loosely. His lips definitely aren’t chilled any longer, but taking on a pink tint, warm and soft. She groans against him as he begins to work her over with the same kind of meticulous attention he gives everything he does. Her fingers slip off his face and she presses her forehead against a shoulder pad once more, almost sliding off the desk until she hooks a leg around him. Kuai Liang buries his lips in her hair and continues the movement of thumb and fingers until he has her rocking against almost his whole hand, grinding down on him. Her breathing stutters and skips as she struggles to keep her balance amidst the flurry of sensation.

The entirety of her is centered on him and his touch, the motions of his fingers and the slowly tightening coil of tension deep in her body. His other hand curves around her back to cup her ass, fingertips digging into it ever so slightly and anchoring her in place. He knows just what makes her tick, and he brings her up to the edge-

Only to pull his fingers free and wriggle them as if stretching them, making her growl at him in frustration as she teeters almost-but-not-quite, trying to get the last little push she needs. It’s enough to let her come down from the edge and collect herself. 

Not that she particularly wants to.

He slips his fingers back in and does something that nearly makes her slide off the edge of the desk. Pleasure crashes through her, sudden and overwhelming. Liquid warmth fills her from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. She presses her face against him, muting her cries against him. Her body clenches around his fingers, clinging as he keeps them moving through the orgasm that wracks her body. The bliss leaves her panting and sagging against his torso, jaw muscles trembling and somehow a smile on her face.

“Feeling better?” He sounds almost solicitous before he flicks his thumb along her again as if just to watch her shudder at the stimulation. “It’s hard to tell when you have gone pink and can’t speak straight in any language.”

“Give me a minute,” she says, fingers clinging to one of his biceps, “and I’ll return the favor. Once I can move my legs.” She can feel her mouth and jaw, a smile she can’t keep off her face.

“I don’t have the patience for that right now.” He meets her eyes, and she can see the raw desire in them. She loves knowing she can undo him like this, take all that expressionless and studied, perfect control and make him hot with need. She palms the fabric between his thighs and watches as he shudders again, a visible ripple up his arms and down his spine. He pushes forward slightly, almost despite himself, into her touch.

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe later,” he grinds out, “if you have no plans tonight.”

“I have a call with Daniil tonight… It’ll be a late night for me again, one way or another. I only went home this morning and came back after lunch. I do actually have work to do.” She can tell how hard he is through the fabric, and she is unfastening his belt a moment later. It clanks as she sets it on her desk, disturbingly heavy for its size.

“It is not as if Scorpion and Skarlet will be back today.” Kuai Liang draws in a short, sharp breath as she tugs down his pants and frees his cock. A little smug expression on her face, one hand closes on his cock, hot and hard and smooth beneath her fingers. She keeps her eyes pinned on him and the twitching muscles of his neck and jaw as she begins to stroke him from base to tip. She can see the rise of blood along his throat and into his face, and the way his eyes have begun to turn more pupil than iris. “Three to one says they are doing much the same.”

“Not until after she’s sated her thirst. I do not let her near _me_ without being sure that glint in her eye isn’t meant for my veins.” Sonya squeezes, a little less gently, and brushes her thumb across the head of his cock. It’s slick already; getting her off has clearly gotten him ready to go. He pushes again into the circle of her fingers, his hands grabbing at her jacket this time and pulling her up close to him, kissing her messy and open-mouthed. She works her hand a little faster, twisting her wrist and swallowing down his grunts with her kiss until she can feel him twitching and almost bucking in her hand.

“That’s better.” She leans back a little to catch her own breath, let the thunder in her ears dwindle. “Got a plan?”

“I want to bend you over the desk.” His breath puffs across her cheek as his mouth moves to her ear. “Bother your paperwork less that way, I suppose. And easier for you to not strip off your boots.”

“And you always respect paperwork and the necessities of leadership, and my wardrobe.” She snorts and slides off the desk, and her knees are definitely not as steady as they should be. He is far too good with his hands, and she enjoys it more than she probably should. She turns, and his hands glide over her ass, squeezing and cupping it in his hands. His hands don’t seem nearly so cold as they did, coaxing heat low in her core. She wiggles her hips invitingly and he chuckles.

“So you are agreeable, then?”

“No,” she says dryly, “I’m only turning around to do paperwork. Yes, damn it.”

He mutters something in Mandarin that she doesn’t know; she turns slightly for a view of him as he moves. His hands caress her body, running along the inside of her thighs again and one finger dipping inside, circling for a moment and making her suck in a quick breath. Then he settles down to business, the weight of his cock pressing against the soft skin between her legs. One of his hands tips her hips just _so_. She shifts in her boots, a subtle movement of anticipation and impatience. He sinks into her in a movement long familiar to them both. No teasing now, just savoring the way she takes him in, how her body stretches and settles around him.

He groans in pleasure and she wriggles against him again; he digs his fingers into her hips in exchange. She can feel the hard muscle of his thighs against her own, the weight of his body pushing up against her and pinning her between himself and the desk. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, the one from low and deep within that’s more of a sign than anything else that he is at ease.

They find a shared rhythm, each motion seeming to hit every nerve inside her, every point of pleasure. The quiet of the room is broken with their grunts and moans, the smack of skin on skin.

She cannot be anything but a hedonist, bent over her desk with her skirt over her ass and her lover’s hands all over her. She wouldn’t give this up. Not with how good he feels, buried to the base in her, and the way the room seems to hold onto their sounds and secrets, as if her moans go no further than his ears.

The room is probably bugged - she would have made certain it was, at least - but this isn’t the first time and no one has reprimanded her yet. Maybe she’s a cheap source of entertainment, and the hint of being watched - of being caught - adds an extra heat to this, making her savor it all the more.

Her inner walls cling to him with every thrust, and she clenches her muscles just _so_. She feels him shudder, drawing another long and low moan from his throat, another low curse.

It’s followed by one of her own a heartbeat after as her phone begins to ring.

“Don’t answer it.” He bends his body over hers and wrapping his hands around her forearms and she feels a faint chill, and she pulls whatever it is deep in her body back and pushes that chill back at him. He half-snarls half-groans. “Sonya, do not-“

“I have to.” Her voice cracks a little at the end and she exhales slowly. His fingers tighten on her arms. Any other time she would savor the pressure and the challenge, but she cannot afford to, not now. Her voice goes sharp and firm. “Kuai Liang.”

He frees her hands and shifts his body precisely, just enough to give her the reach to the desk phone. He mutters something about testing patience, and she pushes back against him, planting her feet more firmly, in response. Irritation fills her as she closes her fingers around it, lifts the headset to her ear.

“Blade.” Her voice is tight as she answers, and it doesn’t sound as even and loose as it should. Behind her, Kuai Liang’s fingers curve around her ass again, thumb brushing idle circles as he begins to move, pausing when he’s only half-buried in her. It’s fucking distracting is what it is, and she can’t decide if she’s thankful for his courtesy or annoyed he doesn’t keep going. Her heart is still pounding and she wants nothing more than to slam the phone back down, and the annoyance and frustration at the sudden interruption makes her lose the first half of the speaker’s words.

“-travel arrangements,” the voice is saying, “for the four of you to the predetermined point in Southern China. Someone will meet you there, and you will proceed accordingly.” Bland and polite and pre-determined, like the apparatchik is reading off a script.

“We haven’t agreed yet.” She doesn’t have to hide the annoyance in her voice. One of Kuai Liang’s hands moves, dipping between her legs and tracing slow circles around her clit. Her breathing stutters and she tries to focus on the distant office worker’s voice in her ear,of the line, not the cock in her and the slow teasing of her lover. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it makes her want to writhe with lust. She admires his restraint, frankly.

She pushes against Kuai Liang’s hand and hears the low laugh behind her. He starts his movements again, just the barest rocking of his hips, enough to hit the nerves just inside her and make her ache with need. She finds herself pushing back against him, wanting to be full of him again. Damn the phone call.

“You’re being ordered to do so,” the voice on the phone replies. “So you will.”

“Understood.” More annoyance, and no need to hide it. They had decided but the fact that she cannot declare it herself first sends a fresh burst of irritation through her, muscles tensing with irritation. There’s a choked sound behind her from Kuai Liang, and she feels one hand dig into her hips, shift her position again marginally.

He shifts as well; she feels the press of him against her, and she can’t help but push up and back, heart pounding in her chest and eyes closed in pleasure. He leans over her, tongue sliding over the shell of her ear. She works to keep her breathing even - or, at least, even enough that the man on the other end can’t tell she’s being fucked in her office.

“When is the departure scheduled for?” She manages the words carefully into the phone. It’s almost impossible to control her speech, to keep a hitch from her breath as Kuai Liang speeds up slowly, his fingers still working between her thighs. Every touch shoots pleasure through her. It’s unfair that he can make her feel this good, want to completely ignore every responsibility she should have in favor of chasing this pleasure. He’s entirely short-circuiting her ability to think coherently, as if he’s frozen her brain in a constant state of arousal and lust.

“In five days. You will have a day of travel and then meet the representative there.” The voice remains placid, ignorant - or just ignoring.

“Understood. Is there anything else?” Her voice almost cracks on the last word and she swears silently; she hears - can damn well _feel_ \- Kuai Liang laughing behind her. There had better not be, because she’s going to have a hell of a time remembering even this much of the conversation.

“That’s all. Thank you, General.”

She fumbles once putting the phone in its cradle and he makes an amused sound behind her as he rakes his hands along her before they splay again over her ass.

“I would almost think you took that call to spite me.”

“Spite you?” She snorts, rocking against him and listening to the low moan she elicits with the move. “Spiting you would be stopping now.” There’s a half-growl at that, and she can hear and feel as he smacks into her, jarring her against the desk. “But I’m too selfish for that.”

“You are certainly no altruist.” He reaches forward for her and palms one of her breasts, squeezing and kneading it gently in the ways he knows she likes until she writhes against him. They find their rhythm again with a new sense of urgency. His breathing quickens, tearing roughly from his chest in short bursts. It is not long - shorter than she’d like, longer than her conscience says it should be - before she feels the changes in Kuai Liang that tell her he’s getting close.

His hips jerk, steady strokes breaking into a harder, almost stuttering pace. One of his hands suddenly is in her hair, weaving in close to her scalp and turning her head sideways. She moves with him, bending awkwardly but finding his mouth with hers as she feels him drive himself into her one last time, hard enough she grunts at the force of it. Her desk is definitely not made for this. He claims her mouth with his, open-mouthed and full of tongue and teeth, as he spends himself deep in her. She clenches all her muscles; it earns her a a long low groan, a sound that’s come from the deepest place within him.

If they were in her bed, or his - or even on the couch across her office - she might stay to savor the sensation. Just hook a leg around his ankle to keep him there so she could enjoy the weight of him against her, the way his uneven breathing slowly eases back to normal. As it is, they’re in her office… and they’ve already been interrupted once, despite the door. That kind of pleasant postcoital glow will have to wait for another time.

Kuai Liang trails fingers down her spine, cupping her ass in his hands one more time, bending his head to press against hers and breathe her in before he steps away. There’s the moment of disappointment as she is suddenly empty again, the two-in-one returned to two discrete individuals.

“Feeling better about it all?” Kuai Liang tilts his head towards her as she straightens up, reaching into a drawer for a packet of tissues. She’s silent as she tidies up the most blatant evidence of sex, dropping the tissues in the trash, and then turns to look at him. She’s not feeling much better outside of having gotten some physical release; the mental tension and gymnastics that she’s going to have to deal with as this damn tournament comes into play is going to weigh heavily on her.

“Somewhat.” That’s the best she can admit. She pulls up her leggings and adjusts her skirt, and his hands graze over her again, tugging it even from the back for her benefit. “Not entirely. I’m still concerned you and Hanzo will get in over your heads and I’ll be busy dealing with the Americans and whoever the opponents are, dragging the two of you out of whatever mess you’re in.”

“You will start a fight with them just for the pleasure of it.” Once he has set himself to rights, he hooks his belt back on. “Perhaps I will encourage Hanzo to goad you into it, for my own amusement.”

“You’re a cold-hearted bastard, you know that?”

“I believe it has been said a time or two.”

“Right.” She runs a hand through her hair, and rolls her head around on her neck; it doesn’t pop, much to her surprise. “Go write me up a report on everything you know about this Raiden, and the tournament, and anything you suspect is relevant on the Lin Kuei.” She brushes the pile of the wool straight on his shoulder pads, considering. “Make that everything you suspect is relevant. Even the most tangential.”

“General, would I omit anything?”

She cocks her head, arching an eyebrow. He dips his head once, with what she thinks is a hint of a smile, turns, and heads for the door.

The ice vanishes as he gets to it, and then the door swings open with only a mild squeak of protest.

**Author's Note:**

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